


The Puppetmaster Moves The War (But Not How One Thinks)

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Gen, Romantic Friendship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9412904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: After uncovering some mysterious accounts and transactions in Count Dooku's name, Obi-Wan Kenobi decides to investigate in case of possible Separatist movement. What he finds instead might end up altering the course of the war.





	1. Quiet Landing

**Author's Note:**

> I had a thought. Christopher Lee was in Star Wars. Peter Cushing was in Star Wars. Pity Vincent Price never got the chance. So now he has a character.

Glowing bugs flashed and fluttered around in the evening light as Obi-wan disembarked from the small shuttle and jumped down to land in soft grass. As he took a look around at the fields of flowers around, he had to wonder. This seemed like far too peaceful a place for Dooku to have been shuffling funds to on a regular basis…

But the records he’d uncovered had been solid intel. Better to investigate and find nothing of importance than to leave them and risk a bigger Separatist problem in the future. He pulled his cloak closer around him and headed towards the town his ship’s sensors had picked up while he’d been searching for a landing place.

\---

The streets were completely empty.

For a moment, that concerned him, until he let his senses unfold further in the Force, and found a town full of life at peaceful rest, just beginning to rouse

It had been a long time since he’d come across a nocturnal planet, Obi-Wan mused to himself as he watched street lamps begin to wake in the same manner as their masters, unfurling their lights like leaves.

Not since he’d been a Padawan, at least.

“Well met, stranger,” said a pleasant voice from his left, and he turned, finding an older, greenish-skinned man decorated in yellow bioluminescent markings and glowing yellow eyes approaching from a newly lit up building. “What brings you to Merinima? We have an excellent-”

“I am looking for someone, actually,” Obi-Wan interrupted gently, pulling a small holocron out of his robes to activate an image of Dooku. “Does this man come by here at all? Or can you tell me if he’s been spotted in any of the other local towns?”

The man squinted, leaning in to scrutinize it more closely. “Hmm… Oh, you are in luck! He comes every year for our Stagemaster’s birthday.”

That was… not the answer Obi-Wan had been expecting. “A _birthday_?”

“Yes, sir, many years now. Though I am afraid he won’t have a reason to come this year,” the man said as he straightened, shaking his head a little. “Our dear Erasmus passed two moons past.”

Obi-Wan frowned slightly as he shut off the holo. Something… something was nagging at him about this. “Could you possibly show me this stage?”

“I can send my assistant to take you there. Parnna!” the man called back to the building, and a small girl with purple markings and eyes and pigtails of many braids poked her head out the door. “Take our new friend-”

“Obi-Wan,” he supplied.

“Obi-Wan,” the man said without missing a beat, “-up to Stagemaster Erasmus’ place.”

“Aya, Sir,” Parnna said, pattering out to take hold of Obi-Wan’s hand with no hesitation or fear. “This way, this way.”

He couldn’t help being a little bit charmed by her enthusiasm, and a small smile crossed his face as he let her pull him through a town that was coming to glittering life all around them as they walked. “Do you get many visitors here, Parnna?”

“Not many, Sir. We got a lot more when the Stagemaster was still with us. His shows were so amazing! He could control everything and touch nothing, no matter how many dolls he used!”

 _That_ got his attention. “Did he, now? And what about the man who visited him on his birthday? Do you know much about him?”

“Not really. Sometimes he buys little trinkets around the shops or picks up a meal to take with him to the Stage, but he never _visits_ anyone but the Stagemaster. He’s been coming for so long, though. Vulina, that’s my oldest cousin, says he was coming even when she was little.”

Mysteries on mysteries. He was highly doubting now that he was going to find any Separatist ties here, but now he felt he had an even bigger question weighing on his mind.

Just who _was_ this Erasmus, that Dooku would have been taking time even during the war to keep an appointment with him?

\---

The stage hall was a fascinating beast, seeming to almost be _growing_ out of the cliffside they came to at the edge of town. Delicate decorations had been carved and painted with skilled hands around the pillars hewn in the front entryway, and had he not been on a mission, Obi-wan could have lost himself for an hour or two trying to study the story they were clearly meant to tell.

But as he approached the doors, he found he’d lost his talkative little shadow.

Turning, he found Parnna hanging back, her hands twisting nervously in the wide sleeves of her tunic. “What’s wrong, little one? Are you not coming?”

“ _Ah_ \- ah, no one can get in, anyway. The Stagemaster was the only one who could unseal the entrances,” she said, and though he sensed she truly believed so, it was also clear that she was wanting any reason at all to stay behind.

He decided not to discomfort her further. “You can go back to your employer then, if you like. He only told you to bring me here, and you did so admirably.”

“N-no… Sir Ferranus wouldn’t be very happy if I just left you here to get hurt. I’ll wait. Um, right here, if that’s okay.”

He managed to keep the laugh out of his voice. “That’s perfectly fine, Parnna. I’ll try not to be long; I’m just going to take a little look around.”

“Aya.”

Obi-Wan turned back to the entryway, and as he did so, a soft _tug_ on his senses startled him into pausing. Confused, he sent out a questioning pulse through the Force, but got nothing in return.

Perhaps…?

Shrugging it off, he made his way into the arcade. On either side were more lines of columns decorated with figures, but they were harder to read with no lamps, nor torches.

But when he reached the doors, it was immediately apparent why no one had been able to open them. The smooth, painted stone panels matched together to become almost seamless, with nothing grippable of any kind that he could see anywhere. And the sheer size of them… they would have taken an _immense_ amount of strength to be pushed open.

 _Or a Force-User,_ reminded a soft part of his mind, remembering what Parnna had said about dolls that had no controls.

He gave the doors another once-over, then pursed his lips together and _reached_ out to pull.

“Are you well, sir?” Parnna called at the sharp grinding noise.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then he slipped inside.

\---

The theatre was silent, save for the soft shifts of air his movements made as he walked deeper into the central hallway. Reaching into his cloak, Obi-Wan produced a small flarestick and lit it, marveling at the sight of stages to his left, right, and front. “An amazing show indeed,” he murmured, unable to even imagine what kind of spectacles must have taken place to fill them all at once.

He reached out to brush a hand against a covered seat, then paused, as that gentle _tug_ brushed his mind again. He frowned, trying to reach back out to it, but once more, it was gone.

No, not gone.

Weak.

A deep frown crossed his face, and he turned in the direction he thought it had come from, up to the left stage and behind the curtains. Stairwells up and down waited for him, and when he searched for the pull, it was out of his grasp.

“Hello?” he called.

After a long silence, he was starting to doubt that the source had been anything living-

“Is... is anyone... up there?”

It was so soft.

A barest rasp, so faint that he almost didn’t hear it. But it was there. A voice from the downward stairwell. Gripping the flarestick tight, Obi-Wan practically leaped down the entire flight in one jump. “I’m here! Keep talking, so I can find you!”

“Left… left door... ” came the weak wheeze.

He shouldered open the closest door in the given direction, then stopped short at what he found. A white-haired elderly man, blue markings almost faded out, curled up fetal on his side on the floor.

Obi-Wan swallowed. “Erasmus?” he asked, crouching to set the flarestick upright on the floor before gently pressing his fingers to the man’s neck.

Blazes, his pulse was so slow. One more day, not even _that,_ maybe, and…

“Aya,” Erasmus huffed, trying and failing to raise his head. He did succeed in opening his eyes, and Obi-wan fought down a shiver at how glassy and dim they were as well. “I… I know you… you feel… like Yan. A Jedi.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan said. “But save your strength for now. I’ve got to get you out of here and get you to aid before we can talk in earnest. The whole town thinks you’re already dead.”

“ _Do_ they?” the old man asked, and despite his ill health, his eyes held a spark of mirth. “A fine… fine trick… that… would be… were it not… for… for this.”

Forcing back a snort, Obi-Wan swept the blanket off the small bed and gently wrapped Erasmus in it before using a touch of Force energy to help lift him. As he did so, _something_ pushed a sick, black little tendril into the power he was exerting. He shook his head at the sudden intrusion, surprised and suspicious. What in-

Labored, rasping breathing distracted him from searching it out. Keep Erasmus alive, come back later, Obi-wan reminded himself, holding his patient against his chest. “Try to relax and rest, Stagemaster. I’ll make the journey as smooth as possible.”

\---

Parnna was gaping. He couldn’t blame her. “He- but- but he- _we left him there!”_

“It’s not your fault, little one. You couldn’t have gotten in there to get him out,” Obi-Wan said, trying to send out some soothing waves, but the the girl still looked like she was going to burst out crying. “You can help me help him _now._ Where are your medical centers?”

She quickly sniffed back her tears and squared her shoulders. “This way, sir. I know a shortcut.”

“Good girl.”

\---

Sitting beside the odd little chamber that encased the convalescing Erasmus was a welcome respite to the chaos of the rush through town. Even with Parnna’s shortcut, far too many had seen them, and all had wanted to stop and offer their apologies to their ailing Stagemaster.

Obi-Wan turned and looked at the elderly man, softly breathing medicated gases through tubes. He hoped the delays hadn’t cost them too much precious time.

“Sir Kenobi?”

He raised his head as the healer assigned to their case approached. “Yes?”

“Our scans have been completed. There is an… anomaly.”

His eyebrows raised. “That’s an unusual term in the medical field.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any better way to explain it,” she said, handing over the datapad she’d been carrying. “It’s as though something is eating him, but nearly all of his vital signs have come back clean. We had to result to ley mana scans before we could begin treatment.”

“Ley- you mean something is attacking him through the Force,” Obi-Wan said, and in his mind, that pulse of dark energy from the Stagemaster’s home under the theatres flashed again.

“I suppose that is what you call it. We can repair the physical damage, but replenishing the mana he’s lost…”

“I will be able to help him with that. Thank you for showing me this,” he said politely, handing the datapad back. When the healer had gone to attend to other duties, he regarded the Stagemaster with a frown. A Force attack… it would have _had_ to have been Dooku, wouldn’t it?

But how?

_Why?_

\---

The lamps unfurled for him with the barest touch of Force energy, illuminating Erasmus’ home in soft oranges and yellows. Any other time, it would have been homey, comforting, but at the moment, the fact that it took so little to do only served as a reminder of just _how_ close to death the old man had been when he’d found him lying alone in the darkness. Obi-wan fought down a shiver and let his senses sweep out further into the room, searching for the thing that would bite back-

And ouch, there it was.

A scowl etched on his face, he approached a table of liquor bottles of varying levels of empty, touching each one with a little pulse of energy. Surely not-

No.

No.

No.

Got you.

Obi-wan picked up the offending culprit, and was mildly surprised to find it was a bottle of spiced wine from Naboo.

A very literal Force poison, it seemed.

He blew out a slow breath. Even more questions that needed answers....

Perhaps he needed to contact the Temple.


	2. Curiouser and Curiouser

“Thank you for your assistance nonetheless,” Obi-Wan said before shutting off the comm, then he leaned back against the wall with a sigh and glared at the winebottle that sat practically projecting false innocence from its spot on a table. Somehow.

All the Halls of Healing had been able to tell him was that it was potentially _possible_ to infect a consumable with dark energy, but they had no records of it actually being _done._ Without digging into the holocrons in the forbidden levels, which he couldn’t do without going back to the temple and leaving Erasmus, _that_ lead was dead.

But maybe…

He stroked the call button on his comm with his thumb in thought, then signaled a new frequency.

“Young Master Kenobi. A pleasant surprise, this is.”

“I wish it were only pleasantries, Master Yoda,” he said to the small holo. “But I’m afraid I have some questions for you. Do you know anything about a theatre owner named Erasmus, town of Merinima, planet Pulure?”

Yoda’s ears actually lifted in surprise, which in turn made Obi-Wan draw his cloak even tighter around him, then the tiny green Jedi frowned, holding on to his gimer stick with a firmer grip. “Heard that name in many years, I have not. But know him, I do. Why do you ask?”

“I am in his home now, and I have reason to believe he may have been poisoned by wine tainted with Dark Force energy. He still lives, but barely. I’m trying to find out why anyone would want him dead badly enough to go to such measures.”

“ _Dark-_ Hmm...no… Fallen, my former Padawan may be, but this, he would not…”

Though he obviously couldn’t feel any ripple of distress through Force from such a vast distance, the expression etched on the old Master’s face made an uncomfortable feeling settle in Obi-Wan’s stomach. “Master Yoda, what _is_ Erasmus to Dooku?”

“Hmmph… Met him, we did, when Yan was still my Padawan. Already staging his shows. The Jedi had failed to take him as a child. Too communal, the Pulureans were. Would not allow it. Self-taught, he was. Bonded as friends, they did.” Yoda leaned on his stick, bowing his head in thought. “I allowed it. No other friends, Yan had. Too closed. Too cold. Got past that, Erasmus did. Their meetings… kept them to Yan’s name day, they did. Little enough attachment, I thought.”

Name day… Birthday… They’d _matched?_ Obi-Wan bit back a grin. No wonder they’d hit it off so well. “The ones I talked to said he was still coming every year until everyone thought Erasmus had died recently.”

“Hmm. Still a strong bond, then. Difficult, it is, to believe Dooku would harm him, even in the Darkness,” Yoda said, and Obi-Wan didn’t miss the change in names from past to present. “Something else in the shadows, there might be. Very deep in the shadows. Unclear, this matter is.”

“I’ll investigate further, then, and let you know what I find.”

“My thanks, young Master.”

\---

Parnna was waiting outside when he returned to the medical center with the cloth-wrapped bottle, swinging a small handled box. “Uhm, they said you’d gone back to the Stagemaster’s place, and… and Sir Ferranus made these for both of you,” she said, holding it up over her head.

The box smelled appetizing, and Obi-Wan smiled when he heard a tiny growl. “Did Ferranus say you had to go back to work as soon as you gave them to me, or would you like to join us for a little bit?”

“Well-” _Growl._ “It… _is_ sort of time for lunch,” she admitted sheepishly, and he chuckled and indicated for her to follow him.

He was more than a little surprised to see the Stagemaster awake in his little fluid chamber, and apparently having no trouble breathing the liquid he’d been laid in. “Good… ah, morning? Afternoon? I’m not sure what you call it here.”

“Lunchtime works just fine,” Erasmus replied, that twinkle of mirth back now that he had a bit more life in him. His markings were still extremely dull compared to Parnna’s and Ferranus’, however, and Obi-Wan felt another bite of concern as he took a seat by the chamber. Would he _actually_ recover, or were they still too late and just prolonging the inevitable?

“Sir Ferranus sent you and Sir Kenobi kimilii rolls and huprii for lunch,” Parnna said, eyeing the box.

“Well, my dear, you’ll just have to eat my portion and tell him I thought it was excellent,” the Stagemaster told her with a lopsidedly-knowing grin, and Obi-Wan covered his mouth with the sleeve of his cloak to hide a smile of his own. “I’m afraid I’m on a very restricted diet until they let me out.”

Kimilii turned out to be some kind of spiced meat wrapped in thin layers of fried dough that he found very pleasant to munch on while he worked on rebuilding the elderly man's Force presence, and though the vaguely fruity pile of fluff Parnna had called huprii seemed harmless enough when he tried it, Obi-Wan was content to let her have all of it, which she attacked with gusto while he brought out the bottle of tainted wine. “Stagemaster, do you remember how you got this?”

“Hm? Let me see, here,” Erasmus said, rolling over in his floating harness, and Obi-Wan held it up to the window of the tank. “Why, Yan brought that. Very strange, that visit was.”

“Strange? Strange how?”

“Well, it wasn’t on our day, for one. About four months ago, during the storm season. He was very upset.”

“Do you remember what he was upset about?”

“He’d been injured, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Wouldn’t let me look after it. He was just wanting a place to hide out and recuperate where no one would bother him, and of course I obliged, why wouldn’t I? After he started to recover a bit, he apologized for having been so short with me and gave me the wine as thanks, said it was a gift from a benefactor. And then the rest of the visit passed as they always do.”

 _Benefactor_ … Hells. Obi-wan had a sinking suspicion whom _that_ might have been, given the power leaking from the bottle, and if _that_ were the case…

He’d very carefully kept his expression neutral, but some of his feeling must have leaked into the Force, because the old Stagemaster stiffened, the glow in his eyes returning somewhat as they widened. “Sir? You… you don’t think…”

“Erasmus, I don’t know why your talents did not sense it, but this bottle is coated in Dark Force energy. Enough that someone of your health and level of Light skill _should_ be dead already.”

“But our visitor _can’t_ have hurt the Stagemaster!” Parnna protested through a mouthful of fluff. “He _loves_ him!”

“I’ve already talked to Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said gently, setting the bottle down. “He thinks there may be more to this than there seems. What you’ve told me gives some emphasis to that. _Someone_ went to the trouble to try and get rid of you in the middle of a war this planet has no part of, and I want to be very sure about who and why.”

“Then… take it with you,” Erasmus said, so quietly it was hard to hear him over the sound of the recovery chamber’s workings. “I am sure of his innocence, but… answers are imperative.”

“I will be sure to look into _all_ avenues, Stagemaster,” Obi-Wan promised. “With any luck, your feelings will be correct.”

And wasn’t _that_ strange, he thought to himself as he left the pair and began the journey back through town towards his ship. When was the last time he had ever hoped for Dooku to be _innocent_ of a crime, rather than merely tangentially involved?

Once boarded, he shoved the bottle very deep into a lockbox as far away from the cockpit as he could put it.

\---

“Archivist Nu said you’d been down here for six hours already. Digging yourself into a fortress of chips and holocrons, Master?”

Wincing slightly, Obi-Wan raised his head from the text he’d been poring over, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly at Anakin’s approach. “Hello. Weren’t you supposed to be returning planetside _next_ week?”

“For once, the mission actually went in our favor. Nice and quiet, no hiccups, no surprises.” A grin. "No Grievous."

“You must have been bored out of your mind.”

Anakin snorted and dropped into the seat across from him, then shivered when he finally took in the sensations of all the assorted bits and bobs Obi-Wan was studying. “What’s all this?” he asked, expression souring with concern. “Have we gotten another lead on the Sith?”

“In a roundabout way.” Obi-Wan sat back and rubbed his temples, attempting to smoothe out the headache that had been building for the better part of the evening. “I have met the survivor of the fascinatingly bizarre assassination method of Force-contamination poisoning. A contemporary of Count Dooku.”

“Well, that’s easy enough, isn’t it? Since he lived, we just wait for Dooku to try and kill him again, then attack.”

Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “The problem is, I don’t think this is Dooku’s doing. At least not by plan.”

Anakin stared at him. “Come again?”

He pushed one of the holocrons he’d set aside forward. “This is the last record I’ve found of any such murder. Based on the studies of the samples back then, I don’t think anyone short of a full Sith _Master_  would be _capable_ of manipulating Force energy in such a manner. Additionally, Erasmus told me that when Dooku gave him the tainted wine, he said it had been given to _him_ by a ‘benefactor’.”

“So, you’re thinking whoever the Sith Lord is, he sent Dooku to kill this Erasmus guy?”

“I’m also saying that I’m not entirely certain Dooku was _aware_ he was being sent as an assassin. Both Master Yoda and the townspeople I met seem convinced the pair of them were tight bonded. They’ve known each other since he was a Padawan.”

“Dooku turned into a Sith, though. That takes all bets off the table, don’t you think?”

Obi-Wan scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not sure. But that question is bothering me far more than I’d like. And unfortunately, the only way to answer it might be to confront Dooku himself.”


	3. The Case

For someone who enjoyed his dramatic gestures so, Dooku was a stunningly hard man to find when he wanted to be. Eventually, Obi-Wan had been forced to accept that their paths would just inevitably cross again as a matter of the war and go back to his troop detachment. One could only chase shadows for so long when there were battles to be fought, unfortunately.

Not that the case didn’t still eat at him.

“Burr in your beard, sir?”

“Hm? Apologies, Commander,” Obi-Wan murmured, shaking himself back to his surroundings. “Just thinking.”

“What’d Skywalker do this time?” his second asked him with a wry expression. “You’ve got this _look,_ sir,” Cody elaborated when Obi-Wan raised a questioning eyebrow. “It usually says ‘I wish I was still in charge of you so I could make you scrub toilets’.”

“I do no- do I really?” Obi-Wan asked, somewhat scandalized.

“The others place bets on which day of the week they’re gonna see it,” Cody replied, now openly smirking as he finished putting his blaster back together from its usual maintenance check. “I’ve discouraged it, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” One, he was clearly  going to have to do better at keeping his sentiments to himself, Obi-Wan thought. And two- “That wasn’t the problem, though. Just having some trouble with a matter I’ve been looking into for Master Yoda.”

Cody winced and shoved the blaster back into its holster. “I’ll just say good luck to you, then.”

\---

He wasn’t sure whether to call it good luck or bad luck when he got a lead shortly after they’d finally caught a lull in fighting.

On one hand, it was most assuredly trying to lure him into a trap.

On the other, he was getting _very_ tired of the disgusting little press on the back of his senses that none of the others in the dropships could feel.

Blowing out a sharp breath, he tucked the winebottle into a loose sling and wrapped it around his shoulder, then slipped off the ship and into the cover of darkness, making his way from the camps down the empty cliffside corridors.

It wouldn’t have killed Dooku to choose a well-lit hideout, would it? Though he supposed he had to give the man credit for sticking to a chosen aesthetic. He wondered if the Count had learned _that_ from Erasmus, rather than his Sith master.

The thought lightened his mood for just a moment, but the hiss of an activating lightsaber immediately put him back on his guard.

“I see my agents did their work.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and let a wave of calm envelop him.

He had a purpose here.

One hand ready to draw his own saber if he absolutely had to, he reached behind him and used a gentle tug to lift the bottle, floating it gently above his palm. “I must admit I’m grateful. It was getting rather difficult checking every shadow and rock in the galaxy.”

He felt a brief flicker of irritation twitch against his senses and inwardly winced, biting his tongue at his automatic urge to needle the man. It wasn’t going to do him any good if his sarcasm got him attacked before he pled his case, he reminded himself acridly.

No time for banter.

He pulled the bottle from behind his back before he could get himself into any deeper trouble.  “I had a specific reason for searching you out, actually. Do you recognize this?”

A bored, imperious stare.

A dismissive glance downward.

A second, much more searching look, and Obi-Wan braced himself against a wave of probing suspicion, throwing up shields against Dooku none too gently attempting to pry into his thoughts.

“Where did you get this?” the old Sith asked, voice a low, threatening growl.

Obi-Wan stood straight. “From the home of your dying friend,” he said, careful to emphasize the ‘dying’.

Dying, not dead.

And so many emotions swirled around the room in that moment, dark and heavy and storming, but Obi-Wan found what he had been looking for.

The thinnest, glowing thread of Hope.

“Erasmus lives?”

“He lives, and he _will_ live, no thanks to this,” Obi-Wan replied, nodding to the bottle. When Dooku stared at him, uncomprehending, the relief in his chest swelled further. “Look with your senses as you once knew them, not the Dark-clouded vision your Sith master has taught you. This wine was steeped in Force poisons, designed to kill low-level Light users. Young Jedi. Self-trained. _Stagemasters,”_ he emphasized, sending the bottle floating towards the other man.

He felt the sharp pull as Dooku caught it in his own power and let him have it.

The wine flared a deep glowing red as the Sith searched it.

The winebottle shattered against the wall with such force that the glass was more or less pulverized into the stone.

\---

Obi-Wan thought he knew Dooku’s fury.

He was now very aware that what he had sensed before had only been a a snowflake compared to the glacier the man was capable of.

It was as though the entire room had been plunged into arctic cold. He could still see perfectly fine, was still aware of everything around him, and yet still felt like he was falling into an icy underwater pit. a deep sucking miasma of frigid darkness that swallowed everything in it and spat back out nothing.

“Kenobi,” Dooku said softly, and suddenly he could breathe again.

“Yes?”

“For the news that Erasmus is still alive, I will let you leave safe and whole. I suggest you take the chance,” the Count said, and turned on his heel to leave, his cape sweeping behind him.

\---

Three weeks since he had confronted Dooku.

Three weeks of suspiciously little Separatist activity.

Three weeks of Senate recess.

Three weeks of worry.

While the droid army and their masters may not have been constantly on the move anymore, there were enough problems to keep him somewhat busy, and he hadn’t been able to find the time to go check on the Stagemaster and his village a second time. Obi-Wan told himself that they had his comm contact and if something went wrong, they could get in touch, but that had never stopped the discomforting itch in his nerves before.

Especially not in these circumstances.

He sighed and rubbed tired eyes, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button of his comm. Perhaps a simple check-in wouldn’t hurt, just to see if Erasmus had heard anything from-

_“Sir Kenobi! Sir! Siiiir! Are you there?!”_

Blazes- He jumped, nearly dropping the little silver device, before recovering and tapping the receiver. “Parnna, I’m here. What’s going on?”

_“It’s bad! So bad! Ohhhh, it’s so bad-”_

“Calm down. Just tell me what’s happening.”

_“The visitor’s ship crashed here!”_


	4. The Bottle Stopper

The town was at midday silence when he arrived, but Parnna was pacing as fast as she could at the doors of the medical center. Or as fast as she could without tripping, as she was clearly drooping from being awake so long. “I’m sure no one would mind if you took a bit of time for sleep,” Obi-Wan said gently as he approached.

She immediately snapped up from another near-doze. “No!” she insisted, shaking her head so hard that her braids smacked her in the face. “This is too important! I can-” The yawn was absolutely _cavernous,_ and he fought back a grin. “I’ll sleep later.”

“Fair enough,” he said, offering a hand, and she accepted, trotting alongside him.

Surprisingly, Erasmus was up as well, looking remarkably hale, if exhausted, as he sat beside the recovery tank that had once held him, one hand dipped in the fluids to clutch that of its occupant. “Ah, it’s much more pleasant to see you on this side of the glass, Sir Kenobi,” he greeted with a smile and a nod, though lines of worry still etched his aged face.

“Were it for better reasons, Stagemaster,” Obi-Wan agreed with a slight bow. “...How is he?”

The way the elderly man’s brows knit even more deeply in concern were a bad sign, and he braced himself as he approached the tank.

Blazing hell.

Webbing scars skittered across Dooku’s skin - a clear sign of prolonged lightning torture. Cauterized grazing wounds spoke of a brutal lightsaber fight, and there were more burns besides, probably from the crash Parnna had mentioned. Deep bruising indicated broken bones and internal bleeding-

In short, it was a wonder he’d made it to Pulure at all.

“Damn,” he murmured softly-

-then reeled back, startled, when Dooku’s presence in the Force suddenly gave a violent surge only half a moment before the man’s eyes snapped open and he lunged up out of the healing tank to grab Obi-Wan’s robes.

“ _He is deep in the Senate!”_

Obi-Wan halted in the motion of grabbing his lightsaber. “What?”

“He is deep in the Senate!” Dooku snarled, wild-eyed and angry, the monitors attached to him beginning to sound alarms and bring medics running. “ _He is-!”_

“Sir! You need to lie back dow-!”

“ _Yan._ ”

Dooku halted his efforts in fighting the medics, head turning, and stared, wide-eyed, at Erasmus, who gently reached out to take hold of the hand that was still gripping Obi-Wan by the collar. “Yes. No puppets, no parlor tricks. It’s me, dear.”

Dooku made a deep, pained inhale, then slowly released his hold, reaching out instead to briefly touch the other man’s cheek, then closed his eyes and allowed the medics to lay him back into the recovery tank peacefully.

And finally, Obi-Wan started breathing again after what felt like ages. “Well,” he said weakly. “That… was…”

“Scary?” Parnna piped up from somewhere behind him, and Erasmus chuckled.

\---

He’d opted to take a walk out to the crashed solar sailor while he put his thoughts in order, leaving Erasmus to his vigil and Parnna to nap in a nest of blankets the medics had provided.

The ship didn’t give him much. Dooku had somehow gotten here without autopilot, probably in an effort to keep from being tracked, even though his master had to have known his destination. Given the condition he was in, that was pretty impressive. Other than that…

He absently picked up a broken piece of the piloting controls, turning it over and back in his hands as he thought. The logical thing to do now, of course, would be to hand Dooku over to the Senate for trial as a war criminal. But something was nagging at him about that.

_‘He is deep in the Senate!’_

Dooku had told him something similar before, hadn’t he? Only then, the man had been boasting. Proud of the insidious, shadowy mechanizations of the Sith and where they reached. But this time, it had been desperate. Almost like a confession. Almost like-

Dooku had been trying to tell him something else.

Of course, he thought as he dropped the piece of debris and turned to back to the medical center at a dead run. Of _course_ the Sith Lord wouldn’t let his apprentice escape alive without making sure the man wouldn’t be able to reveal his identity with some kind of block. And if he really _was_ in the Senate, then if he took Dooku back, Dooku was a dead man before any trial would ever take place. They’d get nothing out of him.

But he had to be _sure._

There had to be _some_ way to-

Maybe the wine?

Everything he’d studied said that Force-tainting consumables was an arduous and time-consuming process. Surely not just _anything_ would have been picked? The Sith Lord would have chosen something of preference? Something  _familiar?_

But… The Senate… Wine from _Naboo…_

Obi-Wan softly breathed several curses that would have made Anakin stare and hoped he was wrong.

\---

Erasmus was sleeping in his seat beside the tank when he got back, and Parnna was still burrowed in her blanket-nest.

But Dooku was awake.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, then swallowed. “Count,” he said, and the man’s eyes flicked in his direction. “For Erasmus’ sake, I am willing to make you an offer.”

There was a long pause, and then the old Sith’s voice croaked from behind the breathing mask. “I’m listening.”

“Answer one question, and answer truthfully, and I will help you both find a place to hide and start over.”

A series of emotions flickered over yellow -blue- yellow eyes, and for a moment, Obi-Wan thought Dooku might laugh him off. But instead, the Count inclined his head slightly. “Ask your question.”

“Did your master use wine from his homeworld to make the Force Poison?”

A hesitation.

A spark.

And then Dooku _did_ laugh, deep and guttural and harsh, startling their companions awake, as he realized what Obi-Wan was really asking. “ _Yes,_ ” he hissed venomously once he’d gotten himself under control, clearly elated to have a loophole to the block that had been put in his mind.

But for Obi-Wan, it was a sickening weight in his stomach, the confirmation he’d hoped not to get.

Oh, Force.

But a deal was a deal.

He folded his hands in the sleeves of his robe to hide the fact that they had gained a slight tremor. “Alright, then.”

“Alright, what?” Erasmus asked, glancing between the two of them suspiciously.

“I made an agreement with your partner. A truthful answer for assistance in getting you two hidden from his master.”

“Does that mean you’re leaving, Stagemaster?” Parnna asked, a little distressed.

“Now hold on, hold on, let me catch up here. _Does_ that mean I’m leaving?”

“It would probably be for the best. Unfortunately, he knows about your location.”

“Hm. Closing down the stages for real, then." Erasmus sighed. "A pity.”

“I am sorry,” Dooku said quietly, reaching up to take hold of his partner’s hand.

“Ah, don’t you be. I’m old, it would have had to happen eventually,” Erasmus replied, giving Dooku's had a squeeze, then the twinkle of mischief came back. “But! I have an idea. We’ll have us a nice little farewell party. Carve a new inscription on the doors. Whoever moves them inherits the stage, hm?”

Parnna perked up. “Oh, that sounds stellar! ‘Cause they’d have to be able to move the dolls like you do!”

“Indeed. That should be a flashy enough exit for the old stagemaster, don’t you think?”

\---

Obi-Wan set the hyperdrive and autopilot, then rubbed his neck against the nauseous headache that had formed at the base of his skull.

He’d made arrangements to meet with Erasmus and Dooku to get them offworld and start shuffling them through some contacts he had once Dooku was healthy enough to get out of the tank.

But right now…

He swallowed back a sick feeling in his stomach, then opened his comm channel. “Anakin, are you still on Coruscant?”

“Yeah, we’re planetside until they’ve got somewhere else to send us. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be there in approximately nineteen hours. I need you and Senator Amidala to meet me at landing. We have to talk somewhere safe.”

 

==========

 


End file.
